End
Title: End
Author: Caroline Fale/Sear
Rating: PG-13-ish
Pairing: Tristan/Lancelot
Disclaimer: I do not own King Arthur the movie nor it's characters.
Beta: Er- no? (That doesn’t equal “Don’t want one”…)
A/N: The darker version of Hope?…
End
The night before had been a night of moonlight and bitter regrets. The day was a day of blood and pain and drifting smoke. In that nightmare Tristan died.
Wishing for that end he had chosen the lone Saxon, and soon the taste of blood in his mouth and those cold eyes boring into his drove away any other thoughts.
Still he could have survived. It was as if the lady Fate gave him one last, mocking chance to life; but he didn’t throw the knife. Why would he, when survival meant nothing to him?
Out of the corner of his eye he saw his lady silhouetted against a strip of endless blue sky. She was the only one who ever had come to him willingly; now she was free. As was he. Free and dead, bitterness curled his mouth, but the memory of Lancelot smoothed it. Lancelot was free, too, and he would live. (He would live.)
The coldness of another blade entering him startled him from his memories. The world came back in a rush and wounds he hadn’t noticed receiving buckled his knees.
If this was death then it was no easier than life. Something gripped his hair and then darkness.
- finis -
A/N: Slightly longer than the ficlet it was based on…
Author: Caroline Fale/Sear
Rating: PG-13-ish
Pairing: Tristan/Lancelot
Disclaimer: I do not own King Arthur the movie nor it's characters.
Beta: Er- no? (That doesn’t equal “Don’t want one”…)
A/N: The darker version of Hope?…
End
The night before had been a night of moonlight and bitter regrets. The day was a day of blood and pain and drifting smoke. In that nightmare Tristan died.
Wishing for that end he had chosen the lone Saxon, and soon the taste of blood in his mouth and those cold eyes boring into his drove away any other thoughts.
Still he could have survived. It was as if the lady Fate gave him one last, mocking chance to life; but he didn’t throw the knife. Why would he, when survival meant nothing to him?
Out of the corner of his eye he saw his lady silhouetted against a strip of endless blue sky. She was the only one who ever had come to him willingly; now she was free. As was he. Free and dead, bitterness curled his mouth, but the memory of Lancelot smoothed it. Lancelot was free, too, and he would live. (He would live.)
The coldness of another blade entering him startled him from his memories. The world came back in a rush and wounds he hadn’t noticed receiving buckled his knees.
If this was death then it was no easier than life. Something gripped his hair and then darkness.
- finis -
A/N: Slightly longer than the ficlet it was based on…